by Erin Hunter
“It was the right thing to do,” Chase growled. “I was young and sick; what good was I to a Pack?”
Storm thought of Wiggle, her litter-brother. He had been small and sickly, but Lucky would never have abandoned him. . . . “How did you survive?”
“Oh, I’d have starved if it hadn’t been for Terror.” Chase hunched her shoulders. “He found me, took me in. He gave me a home and Packmates. Terror was a crazy dog,” she said, looking defiantly into Storm’s eyes, “but he wasn’t all bad.”
Nonplussed, Storm stared after Chase as the little scout dog turned and ran off.
Terror wasn’t all bad. . . .
An image of Twitch came to her mind. Their Third Dog had once been a member of the half wolf’s Pack; but when he lost all strength in one of his forelegs, the old Alpha threw him out of the Pack, to live or die as chance took him.
But Terror brought him in. Twitch had to chew off his crippled leg while he was in exile, so he only had three to run on—but still Terror made him part of his browbeaten Pack. Terror had bullied and hurt all his Packmates, but they’d stayed, out of fear. Or maybe they’d had nowhere else to go.
Were all of Terror’s dogs broken? Storm wondered. They weren’t all starving or crippled like Chase and Twitch, but maybe some of them were broken on the inside.
Maybe, she mused, they had other reasons for staying.
What would it be like, being a dog like that? Broken and lost, with no Pack to call home?
And how would a dog like that feel when a powerful Alpha rescued them and brought them into his Pack?
I always thought Terror’s Pack hated and feared him. Storm swallowed hard. Maybe I was wrong.
How might it make such a dog feel, to see her Alpha killed the way Terror was? Maybe Chase resents me because she’s angry and grieving. This astonishing new idea rooted Storm to the spot, confused.
She was so preoccupied that she barely heard Lucky’s frantic bark. When he repeated it, his voice filled with excitement, she shook herself and turned to stare at him.
“Come on! This way!”
Lucky sprang across the clearing, through a belt of trees, and out into a meadow dotted with cottonwood trees. Caught unawares, Storm had to race to catch up.
Mickey, Snap, and Chase were at Lucky’s heels. Storm leaped over a fallen branch and sprinted after them, her confusion forgotten for the moment. He’s scented it! The Golden Deer!
The small hunting pack plunged into the wood on the far side of the meadow, none of them taking any heed of the racket their paws made on the dry litter left over from last Red Leaf. Storm could smell an elusive, drifting scent, but it was already fading. A good way ahead, there was the crack and rustle of undergrowth as a big animal raced away, fleeter than any dog.
No, this is hopeless, Storm realized with a pang of disappointment. It’s too fast, and it had too big a head start.
Lucky slid to a halt, panting, but his eyes were shining as Mickey and Snap and Storm trotted to his side.
“That’s the closest we’ve gotten to it yet!” he exclaimed.
Storm watched him fondly. He was almost hopping on the spot in his delight. It was hard to feel too let down when Lucky was so happy just to have come this close.
Mickey shook his head. “You know, I’m not sure that was the Golden Deer,” he said. “It might have been just a normal one. I don’t think the Golden Deer would make so much noise. It flies like a shadow, doesn’t it?”
“It’s still a shame we missed it,” pointed out Snap, panting. “The Pack could have used a perfectly ordinary deer, too.”
Storm flared her nostrils, breathing in deeply, searching the breeze. There wasn’t a hint of that spicy, sweet odor; it was hard to tell if the creature they’d chased was the Golden Deer or not.
Still, I’d like to think it was.
Chase caught up to them, her shorter legs trembling as she halted. “No luck, then?”
“No, but we’re definitely getting closer,” said Lucky with satisfaction. “We’ll catch that Golden Deer one of these days. It’s an omen that we’ll get through our troubles.” He turned to them with a grin, his tongue hanging from his jaws.
Storm hoped with all her heart that he was right. She wished she could be as optimistic about her strange talk with Chase as Lucky was about not catching the Deer.
Things are more uncertain than ever. If the Wind-Dogs really want to give us a sign, I wish they’d hurry up.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
They had run a long way in their pursuit of the Golden Deer’s enticing scent, and the journey back was not nearly so thrilling. Storm’s paws dragged on the grass, and her hide prickled with warmth. The Sun-Dog was high overhead by now; she wondered what Alpha would say about their long, unauthorized absence.
Mickey, Snap, and Chase were clearly thinking the same; their tails and ears drooped as they plodded on. Lucky, though, was still in an upbeat mood. It was starting to grate on Storm’s nerves.
“Next time we’ll catch the Golden Deer. We’re getting closer every time, and now we know some of its tricks!” Lucky’s tail swished enthusiastically. “If we can just catch it, our fortunes will turn. The Wind-Dogs will reward us by making the new pups wonderful hunters. And if the pups grow up happy and strong, the whole Pack will surely thrive once more!” He bounced along the path ahead, making Storm want to bite his perky hindquarters. Did he really feel as happy as he seemed, or was it all a show, to keep his Pack’s spirits up? If it was the latter, it wasn’t working on Storm. . . .
“Hush, Lucky,” said Mickey suddenly, halting.
I’m glad some dog said it, thought Storm, rolling her eyes. But clearly Mickey had another reason for silencing his leader. He crept forward past Lucky, placing his paws very quietly.
“We’ve reached the longpaw settlement,” he murmured, glancing back at the others.
Sure enough, the clearing ahead was a churned-up longpaw mess. The longpaws must have decided the ruined building a little way away was beyond repair, so they had started to dig and build on this open patch of land beside it. The ruin backed onto the forest; the dogs had indeed reached the edge of the town.
Slumbering yellow loudcages rested on the turned black earth, their great grooved paw marks scarring what had once been grass. Some of them growled and rumbled softly, and Storm could hear longpaws barking to one another. Her ears twitched wildly at the echoes of clattering and clanging.
At least Lucky had stopped chattering and started paying attention. He stood very still, his ears pricked and his nose sniffing the air. His head swiveled suddenly, and he nodded at a big metal box on the far edge of the clearing.
“Look at that,” he murmured. “No—smell that!”
Storm sniffed. Sure enough, a scent was drifting powerfully from the box, strong and rich and slightly tinged with rotten things. As the dogs watched from the shadows, a longpaw sauntered up to the box, lifted its top, and tossed something into its gaping mouth.
“Are they feeding it?” Confused, Snap tilted her head to the side.
“Not the box.” Lucky grinned mischievously. “Us.”
“Huh? But what is it?” asked Chase, wide-eyed.
Mickey stood stiffly, watching the longpaw. “It’s a spoil-box,” he told them. “When a longpaw has something he doesn’t want, he puts it in a spoil-box. There’s nothing here for us. We should move on.” He backed away.
Lucky, though, was quivering with excitement, his tail lashing. “Mickey, you know as well as I do . . .” He licked his jaws. “One of the things they put in spoil-boxes is food!”
Storm gaped at him. “Lucky, you’re not suggesting we steal longpaw food?”
“Well, they’re not eating it.” Lucky sat back on his haunches. “Every dog here is hungry, right? We’ve run a long way and caught nothing.”
“But . . . longpaw food? Why would any dog want that?” She shuddered.
“I agree,” growled Snap.
“Use your nose! Can’t you tel
l how good it is?” Lucky licked at the air itself, drool escaping from his jaws. “We need energy for the return journey, Packmates. And there’s food here for the taking.”
Eyeing him sidelong, Storm raised her muzzle to sense the odor again. She had to admit that despite the hint of something rotten, it did smell good. . . . It was strange, but rich and intriguing.
“But can we eat longpaw food?” asked Chase doubtfully.
“Sky-Dogs, yes!” exclaimed Lucky. “It’s delicious!”
“I don’t know,” muttered Storm. “What will Alpha say? What if the longpaws come after us?”
“Alpha won’t mind one bit,” Lucky reassured her. “As for the longpaws—like Mickey told you, if it’s in the spoil-box, that means they don’t want it. Besides,” he added determinedly, “it’ll be good practice for all of us. A dog has to be wily and quick to sneak past longpaws.”
“I’m still not sure . . .” murmured Mickey.
“Mickey, you know how good it tastes. And besides, we’ll still have to go out on a proper hunt when we get back. If we eat a little something now, we’ll be better prepared for that, because we’ll be stronger. There’s no point staggering home hungry, if we’re just going to be too weak to catch anything for the Pack.” Despite his stern words, Lucky’s eyes glinted with anticipation.
“Well, it’s true that longpaws are lazy,” admitted Mickey. “If they’re not in loudcages, they don’t chase you far, even if they do see you on their territory. It’s just . . .” He half closed his eyes, as if thinking hard. “Well, Lucky, don’t you think it’s a bit of a Leashed Dog habit, eating longpaw food? I thought we were past that.”
Lucky shook his head. “No, Mickey. The longpaws won’t be feeding us—we’re taking what we want. From under their noses! It’s what I did all the time, when I was a Lone Dog in the city. And no dog ever called me a Leashed Dog!”
A small fire of excitement was kindling in Storm’s belly, against her better instincts. Lucky made it sound fun. And she was rather hungry. And the Pack’s Beta seemed to want to cheer them all up. . . .
“I think . . . I think I want to do it,” she said slowly.
“Wonderful, Storm! I knew you would.” Lucky licked her nose. “Come on, the rest of you—don’t lose your nerve. Think of the Pack—and just smell that grease!”
“Fine.” Mickey sighed, but his tail too was beginning to twitch with anticipation. “All right, Lucky, you’ve talked me into it.”
“Then I’m in, too,” said Snap, with an indulgent sigh.
“And me,” added Chase. “I admit, it does smell good.”
Lucky’s obvious delight made Storm glad she’d agreed to the crazy escapade. He was fizzing with new energy as he led them at a trot around the edge of the churned mud. All of the dogs—except Lucky—cast anxious glances in the direction of the longpaws, but they seemed entirely preoccupied with their loudcages and their tools. There were no loudsticks in sight, to Storm’s great relief. As they approached the spoil-box, though, Lucky grew warier, creeping low to the ground and keeping one eye on the longpaws.
The smells from the box were overpowering now, and almost irresistible. Storm felt saliva gathering at the corner of her mouth, and she saw the others licking their lips and jaws.
“Right,” said Lucky. “You and I are the biggest, Storm. Let’s get into that spoil-box!”
Stretching up on his hind legs, he grabbed the top edge of the box with his forepaws. Storm followed his example, nosing at the lid, and when it came loose at one corner, she seized it in her teeth. It tasted of bitter metal, but she didn’t care—the scents coming from inside were just too good.
“That’s it, Storm.” Lucky worked a paw under the top, prizing it away farther. At last he could shove his whole head in, and suddenly he was scrabbling and kicking, hauling himself up till he was balanced on the edge of the box. Just before he toppled in, he gave a thrust of his shoulders. The lid bounced up and teetered. Taking his lead, Storm took a giant leap, landing on the rim and slamming her forepaws on the lid. It flapped back and fell fully open.
Awkwardly she tumbled down into the spoil-box beside Lucky. He grinned at her. His fur was crusted with crumbs and grease and bits of food, and as she struggled upright she realized, aghast, that her once-shiny coat was the same. Then she caught the scent of the discarded food again, and she no longer cared about the state of her fur.
Both the dogs propped themselves up, placing their paws on the inner rim of the spoil-box and peering down at their companions below.
“We’re in!” announced Lucky with a rumble of laughter. “Where are the longpaws?”
Snap wagged her tail. “They’re still making so much noise, they haven’t heard you.”
“Even though you were also making a lot of noise,” added Mickey with a grin.
“Right. Let’s get to work!” Lucky dived back into the spoil-box.
Storm thrust her muzzle deep into the pile of discarded rubbish. “Mmmm!”
“I know!” yelped Lucky. “Look at this stuff!” He grabbed something to show her: a half-chewed meaty bone that was covered in some kind of brown crust.
“Is that dirty?” Storm pinned her ears back, but Lucky laughed.
“It’s meat—chicken is the longpaw word. The brown stuff is something they put all over it, for some reason—well, I know the reason. It tastes good!” He threw her the scrap. “Don’t eat the bones, they splinter!”
Storm ripped the meat and crust from the bone, chewing. “Oh, it does taste good! Is there more?”
“Plenty.” Lucky dug with his paws, tugging out thin boxes with his teeth. He stretched up and dropped them onto the ground outside the spoil-box, where the others were waiting. In a few moments, Storm could hear the rip of paper and the chomping sounds of happy dogs.
Delirious with excitement, she scrabbled in the pile at her paws. A good smell wafted from a bag; she tore it open. Inside were two pieces of soft white stuff with cold spicy meat inside.
“Sandwiches, they call those!” Lucky told her. “And only half eaten!”
Storm was astonished at how good it all tasted. Why in the name of Earth-Dog would the longpaws throw this stuff away? She was glad they had, though. Together she and Lucky excavated the pile, eating some of the food themselves, tossing the rest of it out to the others. She couldn’t see Mickey, Snap, or Chase, but she could hear their excited yelps, their noisy chewing, and the occasional thump of their paws on the side of the spoil-box as they reached up to beg for more treats.
If this is how Leashed Dogs get to eat, I can almost see the attraction! Storm gulped down a thin piece of salty meat.
“They must be hardworking longpaws.” Lucky laughed. “They eat a lot.”
“They leave a lot, too,” added Storm, licking a wrapper clean of grease. “May the Sky-Dogs look kindly on them!”
Lucky chuckled, raking through paper and boxes and coming up with treasure: a chunk of something that reeked as if it had lain at the bottom of the spoil-box since Ice Wind, but Lucky insisted that was how it was supposed to smell. “It’s called cheese,” he said. “It’s delicious.”
“I think I’m full,” he gasped after he had chomped down half of it. He tossed the rest over the edge to their Packmates with his jaws.
Storm had her snout in a stiff box that held remnants of still-warm, very spicy meat. “There’s rice in this,” she mumbled through the box. “Like we had in the Food House that time!”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to climb back out,” groaned Lucky. His belly did look more than comfortably rounded, thought Storm with amusement.
Twisting, she grabbed the edge of the spoil-box with her forepaws and craned out to look at the others. Mickey was sprawled on his flank, looking content, and Snap had flopped across his legs. Chase was contentedly licking her paws clean of grease.
“I think every dog’s full,” she told Lucky. “Chase, where are the longpaws?”
The scout dog blinked and twisted her
head. Then she gave a yelp of alarm. “There’s one coming!”
“Let’s get out of here.” Lucky hauled himself up onto the edge of the spoil-box and jumped down, and Storm followed him. Both gave grunts of shock as their paws hit the ground heavily. Oh, thought Storm, I’ve eaten too much.
Mickey and Snap had sprung to their paws, barking in warning, and Chase had already begun to run. As Storm and Lucky regained their footing, the four bolted after the little scout dog, as fast as their full bellies would let them.
Storm heard the pounding steps of longpaws behind them; she glanced over her shoulder as she ran. They were yelling, but they were already slowing down. Just like Mickey said—they’re too lazy for a hunt. One of the longpaws flung an empty box that fell far short of the fleeing dogs, but Storm realized that they were all barking with laughter.
Thanks for the prey, longpaws! she thought mischievously as she raced after her Packmates into the trees.
They couldn’t run for long, but they didn’t have to. Lucky slowed to a placid trot as soon as the longpaws were out of sight, and the others fell in behind him. Storm licked her jaws. Oh, I can still taste that crusty bird. . . .
“I admit it, Lucky,” growled Mickey happily. “That was one of your best ideas ever.”
“All my ideas are the best ever,” said Lucky grandly, drawing more amused barks from the others.
Storm picked up her paws happily, a new bounce in her stride. It felt good to have an adventure, she realized—one that wasn’t fraught with danger and misery. Her Packmates looked cheerful too, joking and teasing Storm and Lucky about the state of their coats. Once or twice all the dogs paused for a moment so that Mickey, Snap, and Chase could lick the two thieves’ greasy fur.
Well, Mickey and Snap had fun licking Storm’s fur, nibbling at scraps of food. Chase, she noticed, still didn’t come near her. The small dog saved all her joking for Lucky and the others.
Does she know I suspect her? If she is the traitor, does she think I’m onto her? I have to watch her closely from now on.
It was painful to feel so close to an answer, to justice for Bruno and Whisper, and yet still so far away. But perhaps there was another dog she could talk to, if Chase kept avoiding her, one who knew Chase and knew what it was like in Terror’s Pack. If Chase was the bad dog, her Packmate Breeze must have some inkling of it.